Another Long Van Trip
by J Sumner
Summary: Another van trip for the boys, with Langly and Jimmy at their most annoying. Poor Frohike.


DISCLAIMER: I don't own the guys, unfortunately. I would've treated them a lot better than Mr. Carter. I would've let them live. Anyway, everyone here belongs to Chris Carter and 1013. But you knew that…

Another long van trip. Three hundred plus miles to check out something that by all rights is more up Mulder and Scully's alley than ours. But it could be a story, and we have to take those wherever we can get 'em.

Byers's is driving at the moment, and Langly's in the back with Jimmy. We used to ride three across the front until Jimmy pointed out the connotations that came with that arrangement. Actually, he just made a couple of comments - I really doubt Jimmy even knows the word "connotations." Still, point taken, and now Langly rides in the back. He bitched about it of course, claiming that he gets van sick, but no one believed him. We outvoted him, and it was Back Seat City for the youngest Gunman.

He's got ways of making up for it, though. That thought crossed my mind as he started the umpteenth chorus of "Rock, Rock, Till You Drop" started. I never knew he listened to Def Leppard, let alone knew the words to any of their songs. It was taking the place of "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall" as my most hated car tune, though, that was for damn sure. I would have bee grateful to hear the Ramones, just for some variety. After 67 miles, it just gets old, ya know? But I wasn't going to tell Hippie Boy that, so Byers and I exchanged yet another long-suffering look. I wondered how the Langly family let their boy reach adulthood.

He stopped singing, and for a moment I actually didn't realize it - I was that used to the noise. When I did catch on, I savored it. The silence was beautiful, and I looked back to see if Jimmy had finally snapped and duct taped Langly's mouth shut. Nope. Jimmy was listening to his Walkman, completely oblivious to everything around him. I made a mental note to pick a tape player up on our next stop.

Langly looked at me and said deadpan, "Are we there yet?". I laughed until I caught on that this was Phase 2. Shit. I stopped laughing.

"No," I replied cautiously. What was he up to now?

"How much longer?" he whined. "I have to go to the bathroom."

"You should have gone before we left," Byers tried to joke. Even without looking at Langly, he had caught on that the game had changed, and was waiting to see where it was going.

"Man, this isn't funny!" Langly exclaimed, and he was in prime whining mode. "Man" came out as three syllables instead of one. I had seen this before and it was never pretty. Once he gets started, this can last for hours. It's no wonder he's an only child. I wouldn't have wanted another one after him, either.

"I'm hungry, too," he whined. Magic words. Jimmy shut off his Walkman and chimed in.

"Guys, I could go for some food, too. If we're stopping." Of course he could. The two of them are walking stomachs. They'd eat twenty-four hours a day if we let them. Langly grinned triumphantly; he knew this would happen. Christ.

"We're not…" I started only to be interrupted by Byers.

"There's a McDonald's. We'll stop there." I glared at him. We needed to be a united front to win this. He was too busy turning into the rest stop, however, and ignored me. We were going to have a serious talk, Byers and I.

Almost before we were parked, the backseat was empty and Langly and Jimmy were at the register, ordering. It would have been funny if I weren't so damned annoyed with them. By the time I sat down with them, they were already in a feeding frenzy. I'll spare you the gory details, but seven Super-Sized Extra Value Meals later (and only one and a half of those were eaten by myself and Byers), we were back in the van.

Being serenaded by the Gunmen Belching Choir.

Langly had decided a long time ago that belching was some sort of art form, and had spent years perfecting his technique. I've heard most everything burped, from the alphabet to any number of rude words, but I had no idea he could do the Star Spangled Banner. He must have been saving it for a special moment. And I was absolutely clueless that he and Jimmy could belch the National Anthem in harmony. I would have been perfectly happy never finding that out, too, but I wasn't really given a choice. What I wouldn't have given to just tie them to the roof for the rest of the trip. My one consolation was seeing Byers wince with every note belched, his patriotic sensibilities severely disturbed. Served him right for taking them to McDonald's so they could load up on soda.

I had to leave behind all fantasies of hogtying them to Gilgamesh, though, since I was driving and had to concentrate on the road. Mostly. The belching concert eventually stopped, and I resisted the urge to see why. After all that's what got me into trouble in the first place. It's like that old saying: "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, and you can call Mel Frohike one stupid mother…" Well, you know how it goes.

As beautiful as it was, the silence was starting to wear on me. There is such a creature as too much of a good thing, especially when Langly's involved. Very carefully, I snuck a look back in the rearview. Jimmy was asleep, but Langly was looking right at me. Shit. Here we go again.

At first, I couldn't tell what he was doing. I couldn't see or hear anything, but he had his trademark Innocent!Langly expression on. Guaranteed to bring on worry and early grey hairs. Then I felt it. Slowly, almost rhythmically, he was kicking the back of my seat.

"Stop it, Langly," I warned.

"I'm not doing anything," he whined, and stopped kicking me just as Byers looked back. And of course, he started again the minute Byers faced forward again.

"Quit it," I said through clenched teeth.

"**So** not doing anything," he said in a singsong voice.

That did it. I pulled the van over to the side of the highway and snapped on him.

"Look, punk ass. You stop it or my fist is gonna be so far down your throat that…"

"That you'll what, Do-Hickey?" he taunted. I hate it when he calls me that. I whirled around in my seat, determined to wipe the sneer off his face. Byers, ever the voice of reason, stopped me before I rearranged Langly's face.

"Okay, Frohike. How about I drive now?"

"Whatever," I agreed. He got out of the van and I scooted across the seat. "Watch it, Fabio," I said, and the little bastard grinned at me.

"Whatever, Do-Hickey." 

Needless to say, I was seething when Byers finally got to the driver's side. And Jimmy had woken up sometime during this and was trying to figure out what he had missed. Stupid Jimmy questions. Just great. That's exactly what I needed.

Practice has made me somewhat of an expert in tuning him out, though, and I was successful at doing so for about two miles. Then I realized that a steady stream of "ows" had replaced Jimmy's questions. Byers had apparently come to a similar realization.

"What's going on back there?" he asked, checking the rearview to see what they were up to.

"Nothing," Langly answered.

Byers tried again. "Jimmy?"

"Nothing," he replied slowly.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then." Byers looked over at me and shrugged. He and I were turning into the parents on this road trip from hell, and I could've throttled the hippy for doing it to us. Cheerfully.

There was silence for another mile and a half, and then it started again. "Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow."

"Shut up, Jimmy," Langly hissed.

"But…"

"Look, man, if you wouldn't look at the circle, you wouldn't have this problem."

That caught my attention. The what? I turned around in my seat. "Explain. Now." I demanded.

Langly shot Jimmy a "Good Job, Idiot" look, but stayed quiet. I turned to Jimmy. "Well?"

He looked cautiously at Langly, who was suddenly very interested in the flora and fauna rolling past the window, and then spoke.

"We're playing the Circle Game."

"And what's that?" I asked slowly, pretty sure I didn't really want to know.

"You make a circle with your fingers like this," he demonstrated, making an okay sign with this thumb and index finger. "And you hold it below your waist, and if another person looks, you get to punch them. Langly's really good at it," he finished in a burst of semi-hero worship.

"Yeah, and you suck at it," Langly shot back, obviously pissed at the squealer.

Something in me snapped. I couldn't deal with it anymore. If I had to sit through another minute of this shit, someone would die, and I was pretty damned certain who that someone would be. But frankly, we couldn't replace the hacker so easily. 

"Alright, Langly, you win," I sighed. What do you want?"

"Shotgun," he said without hesitation. The little bastard had been planning this all along! I was amazingly pissed, but I kept my cool. Just barely.

"Fine," I said through clenched teeth. "Byers, pull over."

Langly was clearly surprised I had caved so quickly. "What?" he asked, stunned.

"You heard me," I said as Byers stopped the van. "Switch seats." I got out of the van, and as Langly and I passed each other I grabbed him by the arm. "You're walkin' the line, Fabio. And you're about this close…" I held my fingers about an inch apart, but didn't finish the sentence. He gulped audibly as I let him go.

"Thanks, Fro," he said quickly.

"Whatever, punkass," I said, and slid into the back seat.

We got settled and Byers started the van again. Two miles later, he pulled onto an exit ramp.

"What's up?" Jimmy asked.

"We're here," Byers replied.

"This sucks!" Langly yelled. If looks could kill, I would've been dead in my seat. I just grinned.

"I told you that you were this close," I said. "I just didn't say this close to what." He sunk down into his seat to start what I was sure was going to be the queen mother of all Langly pouts, but I didn't care. I just laughed.

Paybacks are a bitch.

~FIN~

Feedback, feedback, give me feedback! - J


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